Save me from this thing in my head
by E McCarty
Summary: A new fellow presents some symptoms that intrigue House. He hounds her until he gets what he wants. The answer. Rating for language.
1. Chapter 1

            He notices everything.  So it was no shock to her that after her latest episode that she looked at him, and saw his eyes, active with the new puzzle, on her.  He noticed how she tried to stop the myoclonus, and he noticed how when she walked to the end of the corridor she let all of the tensions take her over.  She had three more violent jerks as she rounds the corner.

            He allows her symptom wash over him, as he consulted his memory to see if there were others.  He remembers her grimace after this latest episode and concluded there was pain.  He remembers this must not be the first time for her symptoms, and knows he needs more information.  He grabs his cane and goes out and searches for her, and more importantly, answers.

            After 10 minutes, he's at a loss.  He's searched every in the hospital he can think of.  He would have paged her, but since it's her second day at the hospital, he doesn't even know her number.  He knew Cuddy would have the number, but that would involve giving more information that he wants at this time.  He decides to walk to the nurses' station to have her paged over the PA.  Walking by a storage closet, he hears a suspicious, if not familiar, noise.  He waits outside for the noise and hears it again. 

            Agony.  Pain.  Things that he's very familiar with.  A few cuss words in French, if he wasn't mistaken.  Who knew she had such a potty mouth?  After another minute of her insulting her pain, and her pain's parents, he barges in.

            "Playing hooky from work, I see.  Sorry, myoclonus has been overused.  You'll have to think up another excuse--"

            "Ow, FUCK!" she yelped as another spasm hit her. English this time.  Pain must be getting worse.  "Believe me, I'd rather work than—SHIT!"  She just elbowed herself in the ribs.  House actually slightly winced as he heard the limb impact her ribs, and the ensuing _crack_.  Her breathing is already quite elevated, and he actually is starting to get somewhat concerned.  But not so much with her… after all, she is _just_ a patient.  And one of his underlings to beat it all.  He was more interested and concerned with her symptoms, and their increasing intensity.

            "Come one.  You've got an MRI with your name on it.  And I'm charging by the hour."

            "I-I don't know if I can walk," she says, blushing as she finds a spot on the floor infinitely interesting.  He feels her embarrassment, and actually decides not to say anything about it for once.

            "Be right back.  Going to find some hired help, and a wheelchair," he said, limping out of the storage closet.  She nodded slightly.  Leaning her head back against the wall, she closed her eyes.  A violent spasm ripped through her, and she ended up banging her head against the wall, _hard_.  She screamed as pain coursed through her head first, and then down her whole body.

            "I'm back!" he said, in a very happy and annoying tone.  Another spasm hit her and her head cracked against the wall again.  "Keep that up, and I'll have to treat you for a scull fracture," he said, as the nurse he came with dropped down to her, and gently lifted her up in the wheelchair.

            "I'm not sure what you're going to accomplish.  Been to 3 different neurologists.  One thought I was crazy, psychocongenital myoclonus.  One thought _jerk_ abnormal readings from T 3 sensor.  Other thinks _jerk_ it could be symptom of another disease.  I'm going with number 3."  She jerks again in the elevator.  "IV lorazepam right now, or this is off," she said, her eyes pleading for relief.

            House nods and says nothing until after the elevator opens, and he passes by the first open nurses' station he finds.  He finds the drug box, and after a moment of rustling, he finds a syringe and the lorazepam, and draws out 2 milligrams from the vial.  Looking around again, he finds a tourniquet, alcohol prep and a bandage.  Limping back towards her, he administers the shot with a practiced ease.  After a moment, her jerks subside a bit.  After a moment more, she is still.

            He can tell by her breathing and the look on her face that she is in quite a bit of pain.    He sees that she is trying desperately to not cry.  After a moment, she starts mumbling to herself.  French again.  He would definitely have to ask about that.

            "Myoclonus.  How long?" he asks.

            "A little over a year.  Intermittent.  Sometimes I'll have these episodes," she said, motioning to herself.  "This is the first one in about two months."

            "Anything that helps?"

            "Yeah, symptoms only, though.  Any benzos will stop episodes like this.  Antiepileptics barely touch it.  I was already on topiramate at the time I first experienced symptoms.  Also, lam.. la, um Lamictal."  She shook her head, as if to clear cobwebs from her head.  "Where am I?" she asked, obviously confused.  She started babbling incoherently, emphasizing every few words.

            "New symptom," he mused to himself.  He picked up on the fact that she was favoring her right side as well.  He quickly paged Foreman.  A few minutes later, House saw his first sign of Foreman. 

            "What's up?" he asked before glancing at the patient.  A small gasp escaped his lips as he saw House's new fellow in the wheelchair.  He didn't have a chance to say anything as House barked out a few orders.

            "Myoclonus onset over a year ago.  Confusion and aphasia onset," he looked down at his watch "6 minutes ago."  Foreman looked at him stupidly for a second.  He shook his head, and wheeled the patient towards imaging.


	2. Chapter 2

Myoclonus

Confusion

Aphasia

Right Sided Hemiparesis

House frowned at the last three symptoms, as they suggested that her condition was rapidly deteriorating.  Absentmindedly, he threw his tennis ball a few times at the wall, adeptly catching it each time.

"There's something she's not telling me," he murmured to himself.  He sat the tennis ball down and looked at his team.  He immediately reached for his cane and quickly limped off to her room.  The ducklings followed in quick pursuit.  He reached the door and made his way inside and shut the door before his team could enter.

"What aren't you telling me?" he asked.

"How can I know what I'm not telling you if you won't tell me what I'm not telling you," she said, smiling.  He noticed the lack of smile on her right side.

"Any more symptoms?"

"I'm assuming you don't just mean neuro symptoms," she said.  House didn't miss the shortening of 'neurological'.  That wasn't like her.  She liked to impress everyone through words.  Even him after she realized she couldn't impress him like that.

"Duh," he said.

"Weight gain, nausea, diagnosis of Bipolar disorder when I was 19, history of drug use, primarily marijuana," she said.

"Bipolar, hmm?  Any family history?"

"Don't really know.  I just know they're all friggin assholes," she said, an unreadable expression on her face.  "Um, I don't know if this is a symptom, or if it's just a cool trick to do in a cop bar," she said, smiling.  She struggled to sit up on the side of the bed and proceeded to clasp her hands behind her back.  She struggled, more for her at least, to bring her hands over her head and placed them down in front of her.  She started sweating at the effort.  At least, that's what she's said.  He knew it was for the pain.

"How's the pain?" he asked.  He noticed the slight startle and the slight tensing up at the question.

"Fine," she said.  She closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing to get the pain back down to a manageable level.

"I can give you something for that," he said.

"I told you I wasn't in pain," she spat, glaring at her boss.  A new spasm hit her arms, but since she was sedated, it looked to do no further damage.  However, she was greeted by a whole new wave of pain, and couldn't help the groan that escaped her lips.  "It will pass," she said in a quiet voice.

"Why don't you want anything for pain?" he asked, curiosity painting his features.  She looked up for just long enough that she was able to see his engagement in the mystery, and she also knew he wouldn't be leaving the room any time soon.  He sat down in a chair next to bed and placed his leg on the edge of her bed.  He pulled out his portable TV, extended the antenna, and flipped on _Prescription Passion_.  She ended up laying back down, struggling to untangle her sheets so she could cover herself.  She knew that cold tended to make it—the myoclonus and the pain—so she had gotten in a habit of wearing long sleeved shirts, flannel pajamas under all of her clothes.  The hospital gown she found herself in was not NEARLY enough coverage that she would have like, and she admitted to herself there was a bit of embarrassment that she was half-dressed, in front of her boss, nonetheless. 

She was surprised that he took his attention off his soaps long enough to snap at her to sit up again.  He quickly rearranged her sheets.  She started to thank him, and realized that he wasn't the type to appreciate social necessities, so she nodded and smiled at him again. 

"So, French, eh?  Where did you learn that?"

"High school.  I really only remember the basics… just enough to get myself smacked if I found myself in the wrong company.  Unfortunately my accent is convincing enough that most native French speakers wouldn't believe me if I told them that I was told to say that by a friend," she smiled, rubbing her right cheek in memory.

"You took French in high school.  You're 27, so you're coming up on your 10th anniversary of graduating.  I'm assuming that you haven't really kept up with it since then, so what about those words that makes you remember them?"

She smiled, and was able to hide almost all traces of embarrassment, but the trace she didn't hide was more than enough for him catch.  "My first week in class, I kept noticing that my teacher would go off in French every time the PA system interrupted the class.  So I got curious, wrote down the words to the best of my ability, and looked them up.  I didn't say anything until about another two weeks later, when I told him I knew what he was saying.  He was actually so impressed that I took my own time to learn something that wasn't even in the curriculum that I got a 3.97 in his class.  It would have been a 4.0 if I actually did anything in there.  Like the busy work that they like to call homework.  I still ended up with the Senior French Medal," she finished, smiling.

"Why don't you want anything for pain?" he asked again.  He noticed her tensing up slightly.  She still stayed quiet, facing towards the other side of the bed.  She knew he saw her reactions to her questions.  But she knew it was enough that he saw.  Also, she knew that the less reaction someone had the more of a reaction they actually had inside.  She knew he knew this, and that added to the fact that she knew he would not let it go until he knew something.  She formulated her responses for a moment, and decided that the truth would be the best.  Besides, he would understand, somewhat, anyways.  She hoped. 

There was no guarantee that he wouldn't come out with another biting response designed to get under someone's skin, though.  And she knew of his propensity to completely loathe the human race as a whole.  He would have avoided humans as a whole if it weren't for the fact that he could resist trying to solve every problem and puzzle that came his way. 

"You do know that just because I tell you this that it doesn't mean that I don't have other hidden things," she said, with a smirk.  Her face fell at his next statement. 

"And what makes you think that I don't already know about it."  Silence.  She tried to gauge his voice, checking for any sense of smugness or arrogance.  Instead she found none.

"And what makes me think that your nice act is anything but that?" she spat at the older man.  He blinked one and smiled, almost viciously.  Her gaze wavered but it never left his eyes.

"There shouldn't be any reason for you to trust me.  But you're dying so it's my business to know everything that I can to try to save you.  Unless that's not what you want," he said, alluding to one of her hidden things.

"So you want to know why I refuse pain meds, huh?" she asked to change the subject, a bit of venom in her voice.  "I see my illness as a punishment for all of the shit I've done in life.  Wouldn't want to lessen the punishment that whatever deity has decided to dish out," she said, ruefully 

"Ah, God wants you to be sick, is that it?"

"Who says that there is a God?"

"You, just now."

"I guess you got me there," she said, closing her eyes in exhaustion.  She took a few deep breaths and then felt the familiar burn of morphine going through her veins.  "What the HELL do you think you're doing?" she screamed.  "I don't want pain medicine.  I don't want to be drugged up.  You know what, that you so VERY much for feeding into the insanity again!" she said, screeching the last few words.

"That's what I thought.  Insanity, huh?  Isn't that Step 1?"

"Step 2," she corrected before she could even think about it.  Her eyes screwed shut in frustration and the realization that she had fallen for one of House's traps.  She feared opening her eyes again, but after another moment of indecision, she slowly opened them.  The unnerving stare coming from the older man was one that she'd seen many times, with patients, administration, and most recently, with her.  It was almost like he could see through her soul, and she shook with, among other things, the intensity of it.


End file.
